


Mischief Re-Made

by i_am_zan



Series: DGMRarepair 2k17 run by Kitty Bandit on tumblr [1]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, What Have I Done, dgmrarepair2k17, fairy tale-ish, this might be the start of something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 09:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12554032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_zan/pseuds/i_am_zan
Summary: It might be the start of something, but she's not quite sure. She can't be sure if it happened at all.





	Mischief Re-Made

**Author's Note:**

> For DGM Rarepair 2k17

An autumn breeze picked up leaves and blew them hither thither. A girl sat on a stool on a street corner under a lamp. Its dimness struggling in the hour just before dusk. She had wares to sell. Meagre though her offerings, they were delightful little things. Like the faint light, she was determined to stay until she has sold them all. These were like her, unwanted. Broken. An arm here snapped, stitches there undone and elsewhere, an eye come loose. Even so, she persevered with the repairs. Making them – not like new again, but different, giving the toys something else to be delighted in once again. Or so she hoped that others would see. It did not matter that no one saw her. Indeed, she felt invisible. A wraith through life. People only saw the crockery she broke, the milk she spilt and the mess she made of herself when she fell into a puddle. 

The grim resolute in the set of her jaw, made her look more in years than she was. Dressed simply and prim, she tried her best to smile, but it still came out as an awkward stiff grimace, with downcast eyes. Her right hand would often steal its way into the pocket of her pinafore as she stroked the smooth glass, her finders would finger the chain from fob to watch. As her hand gently grasped the face and the steel back, she could feel time slowly tick on its merry way between the thumb and forefinger. Soothing her nerves. The only perfect thing in her world full of woe and wretched circumstance.

She’d already parted successfully with a wooden horse with only three legs, but she’d cleverly managed to take attention away from that fact by turning it into a unicorn with a skilfully carved toothpick, painting it silver and giving it amber eyes with bits of crystal leftover from some other remnants. The wooden box contained them all – remnants of childhood remade. 

 

Intent she was, upon the ticking of time between her fingers that she only became aware that she had customers when a coquettish laugh brought her back to the present. 

“Oh, but these are charming!” 

When she looked up. She instinctively held her posture straighter, even if she still could not bear to look anyone in the eye. Especially a young lady dressed in such finery. Lush purple velvet, delicate lace at the wrists and throat, flouncy white underskirt and hair a deep midnight hue. She looked away lest she be caught staring. But not before she caught a glimpse of sparkling mischief, in eyes as amber as of those of the mythical creature she sold, just a mere five minutes away. Not before she glimpsed forever and a day in those mysterious eyes. 

“Y-y-yes these are for sale.” Miranda stuttered. Flustered that someone akin to a princess would stop and look at her wares. “They’re n-not new, but given new l-life.” She lost completely the spiel she’d prepared in her head.

“Ooh I like that!” The princess spoke, demure docility – almost at odds with her kittenish demeanour. “New life-eh?” 

“Father I want them” She demanded of the tall haughty gentleman next to her. 

“BUT WHY?” Flabbergasted he replied for himself, “I can buy you a store of brand new perfect ones!” As much used to getting his way as his princess then.

“BUT I want these!” 

“Which, -uhm – which one would you like m’lady-uhmm-Miss-uhm?” The hapless girl was uncertain as to what honorific she ought to use. Using every ounce of will that she could to interrupt their minor squabble. 

She wished she hadn’t spoken when the sudden silence deafened her and she couldn’t bring herself to look. When the lull continued, sure that she’d missed an opportunity of sale by being too forward with gentry – she deigned to look again. Surprised that there were two pairs of eyes trained on her, one with saucy temerity the other with supercilious disdain. Miranda had never wished so fervently that the ground would open up below swallow her up. 

“I. WANT THESE!” Undaunted, the girl pressed her father. “They have character, they’ve been broken, and they’ve been given new life.” She stomped her fancy heeled boots, “I want them. ALL!”

“All?!” Miranda could not believe her ears

“ALL?!” The princess’ father obviously could not believe his either. 

“Yes! ALL – I said, and ‘ALL’ I meant.” She huffed “So there!”

“How much then woman?” Muttering and grumbling beneath his breath, growling about spoilt children, and their waywardness. 

“Wh-what? I-I mean, I beg y-your pardon?”

“How much for the lot?” The man was brusque. Used to getting his way, much like the daughter. 

Miranda spent scant seconds calculating and blurted out a price – she was barely certain was too much or gave herself short shrift. 

“Lero!” The man yelled over his shoulder to someone some paces behind them. “Lero! Pick this up and take them to the manor. And for heaven’s sake give it all a thorough cleaning before bringing them to her room.” 

“Lero! Lero!” Which seemed to indicate assent, from the thin man in a pale pink jacket and dark trousers. 

The haughty man shoved some notes into her hand. Dumbfounded she gaped at the money in her hand. _It’s too much_ she whispered softly to herself. 

The autumn breeze picked up again playing with the leaves and ruffled her skirts and wisped strands of dark auburn across her face. Miranda Lotto was certain that what just transpired was but a moment of fey. A moment of trickery and mischief. 

She was hauled rudely back to the present when that strange orange haired man returned and shoved yet another piece of paper into her hand. 

“Come back to the manor,” the man wheezed out “at the end of the week.” He clutched at his chest, “Mistress Road wants you to look at her other things." Lero wheezed some more, inhaling deeply, “You’ll be paid for your time of course. Bloody ‘ell I don’t get paid enough, Lero!” The thin man called for her attention again, " The address - it's on the piece of paper. Don't lose it now."

She watched in wonderment as he turned tail and run off, into the crowd and into the dwindling light. The lamp above her brightening in the encroaching darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> I was going for a 'The Little Match Girl' story and was aiming for a faerie tale air. I probably missed the mark by a long way. I hope I can keep going for the rest of the week.
> 
> Prompt for Mon 30th October: Purple, Royalty, Creativity, Determination, Opulence, Wisdom, Maturity


End file.
